


The Cthulhu Blues

by dotfic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-04
Updated: 2009-03-04
Packaged: 2017-10-27 12:40:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/295963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dotfic/pseuds/dotfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two brothers, fourteen ghosts, a sugar high, and a lot of purple Cthulhus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cthulhu Blues

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: Set between Shadow and Hell House. Written for the wonderful [](http://marinarusalka.livejournal.com/profile)[**marinarusalka**](http://marinarusalka.livejournal.com/) 's birthday. Many thanks to [](http://deirdre-c.livejournal.com/profile)[**deirdre_c**](http://deirdre-c.livejournal.com/) for the beta.

  
Dean thought it felt weird putting in the security codes, unlocking the door with the keys Mr. Gibbons had given them, walking in as if they belonged there, as if they'd been invited. Well, they had been invited. Mr. Gibbons was a friend of Pastor Jim's; he'd confided in Pastor Jim about the problems in his store, Pastor Jim had told Dad, and Dad had sent a text message (wordy, for him) to Dean's cell phone.

So there they were, not illegally breaking into Gibbons' Candy Barrel at twenty minutes to midnight. The floor creaked under their feet, the air smelling of clean varnished wood, chocolate, sugar, and the lingering traces of espresso. Spin racks of postcards showing the local historical sites stood next to the front counter, and a pyramid of chocolate rabbits wrapped in brightly colored foil stood next to the ice cream and coffee bar.

"Ooh, gummi bears!" Dean opened one of the clear plastic drawers that covered one wall and took a handful.

"Like they haven't lost enough money already without you dipping in?" But there was laughter in Sam's voice, the first Dean had heard since Chicago.

The scratches on Sam's face were almost healed, but Dean couldn't seem to shake off the worry as a background hum, found himself checking too often to make sure Sam had slept, to see that the scratches were healing, to see that he was eating. Couldn't stop wondering where Dad was now, whether they should've let him go.

Dean rolled his shoulders. Better to just think about the job.

"Gibbons told me we could help ourselves," Dean said, finishing off his handful of gummi bears. "The guy's grateful to have any help he can get. We're gonna save his business."

Sam wrinkled his nose. "I guess." He hesitated, then reached into another drawer, snagging some caramels before he swept his flashlight beam over the store. The light caught foil candy wrappers, splashes of color, and a shelf of stuffed animals that included a lot of fuzzy purple Cthulhus.

Before the candy store, the plot of land had held a different building, a house where a serial killer had murdered fourteen people over a period of a year.

"Besides." Dean opened another drawer and took a handful of sour-patch kids. "The sugar rush is a kick."

"Yeah, until you get a stomach-ache." Placing his flashlight and backpack on the wood floor, Sam took out the spray-paint, the clear plastic bags of herbs, the candles, and Dad's journal.

"What're you talking about?" Over in the corner stood a fiberglass statue of one of those M&M's from the commercials. Dean thought it was kind of creepy in the shadows cast by his flashlight beam, tiny arms sticking out of the large, round green body. "I have an iron stomach." He dropped his duffel bag next to Sam's backpack.

Shaking the canister of paint, Sam snorted. "That's right. I've never gone out at two o'clock in the morning to get you Pepto. Never."

"Those times were _food poisoning_. It doesn't count." Dean didn't much feel like reminiscing about any of his time spent worshipping at the porcelain altar; trust Sam to be a killjoy and bring up something like that.

He pushed a few of the small white tables aside to make room for Sam to paint the circle. In this case, it didn't matter that the original building was gone, the ground bulldozed and built on fresh. Some deaths were so horrific, or the energies of the dead so angry, that it seeped into the land itself.

They'd checked the records--twelve of the fourteen had been cremated, and he and Sam had burned the remains of the other two a few days ago. That hadn't stopped a light fixture from crashing down during the lunch hour rush, injuring two people, or kept the boxes in the store room from rearranging themselves, the espresso machine from occasionally producing blood instead of cappuccino, or the jelly beans from appearing on the counter arranged in letters that spelled the name of the killer (according to one of the news articles, the serial killer had had a thing for jelly beans). The spirits had stayed dormant until Gibbons decided to expand, broke ground at the back of the house, and dislodged the resentful undead.

Dean took the canister of salt out of the duffel bag and poured it in a large circle around Sam.

"You know..." Sam said, pausing in his work. He looked around the shop. "It always seems worse when it's a place like this that's haunted. If it's an old house or an abandoned building, it's easier somehow."

The same thought had gone through Dean's mind a few times over the years. Brightly decorated classrooms where kids played, public swimming pools, modern apartment buildings with big glass windows, summer camps, grocery stores--always seemed more made of wrong to have places that like get torn up by spirits or monsters.

It surprised Dean to hear Sam approaching it that way, although maybe it shouldn't have. "Huh, haunting's a haunting, Sammy. You gotta just do the job." He finished pouring the salt and snapped the slid of the canister shut. "Stop thinking so hard."

Stop wondering where Dad was.

With the circle complete, Sam opened Dad's journal and began painting the symbols.

The drawers in the wall of plastic candy bins shook for a few seconds, then stopped.

"We've got company." Dean went over to the duffel bag and got out his loaded shotgun. He took more rock-salt rounds and put them in the pockets of his jacket before he paced the circumference of the salt circle, watching and listening.

Sam got halfway through putting down the symbols before several stacks of chocolate bars slid to the floor, followed by a shelf of Necco candies. The room grew colder and Dean felt a familiar, oppressive feeling, an almost stifling sense of unwelcome.

"You about ready?" Dean swung his gun around, back of his neck prickling. Not that he was worried.

"Gimme a sec." Sam had taken out the bags of herbs and was scattering them over the symbols. The red paint shone bright in the beam of Dean's flashlight.

Two of the tables scraped fast across the wood floor, headed towards Sam. Dean kicked at the nearest table, stopping it. The other one slid past him, but Sam stepped aside in time. The table legs only disturbed the paint a little.

"Guess I'd better hurry it up, huh?" Sam glanced up at Dean, once, quickly, before he started to arrange the candles.

"Just keep doing what you're doing." _I've got your back_. Dean stayed near the tables, watching.

No one could blame him for being totally unprepared when one of the plastic drawers slid open and jelly beans flew across the room, pelting them like hail. Dean hunched, ducking his head. He saw Sam do the same, throwing up his arm as he kept working through the jelly bean storm.

The little suckers _hurt_. Damn. The drawer emptied fast and stillness fell while Dean gripped his shotgun tight, held his breath wondering what was next.

"Almost ready," Sam said.

Several oversized lollipops rose out of their bin, spun around as if hunting for something, then hurtled across the room in a way that was way too purposeful.

"Down!" Dean shouted. As Sam ducked, he shot one of the lollipops, which shattered, sending bits of candy flying. The other one changed course in mid-flight, racing towards Dean before he shot that one too.

"It feels like we're in a Tex Avery cartoon," Sam said, a mix of disgust and admiration in his voice.

He steadied his grasp on Dad's journal and started to read the incantation. Sounded pretty impressive doing it as a matter of fact--not that Dean would ever tell Sam that. Kid's ivy-league head was puffed up enough as it was.

Purple Cthulhus flew off their shelf, stuffed tentacles flailing. Several of the plushies bounced off Dean. One of them smacked Sam in the face, making him break off in the middle of a word. Dean wished it wasn't quite so dark so he could see Sam's expression of affronted dignity better. Comedy _gold_ , baby.

But less funny, their breath was now visible in the cold air and Dean thought he heard a humming noise, felt an unpleasant tingle of energy that probably wasn't from the sugar rush. He felt it in his skull, down his whole body.

He turned slowly, candy crunching beneath the soles of his shoes.

Fourteen ghosts materialized in a circle around Sam, looking down at him with malevolence. Through the transparent forms of the ghosts, Dean saw Sam look up from Dad's journal, taking in the fact that the spirits had surrounded him. He swallowed.

The candles guttered and went out.

"Dean?" Sam said. At first Dean thought it was a request for reassurance. But then Sam said, his voice low and quiet, "Maybe you should get inside the salt circle."

"Good call. Hit the deck," Dean said, and waited until Sam flattened himself to the floor, hands tucked over his head, before Dean shot one of the spirits, giving himself an opening.

He moved towards the salt circle but the other ghosts shifted, closing the gap. Dean shot another one, watched it flicker out in a spray of salt. One of them lifted a hand, and Dean felt a force slam into his chest, knocking him off his feet. He hit a display rack, crashed to the floor with brightly colored cardboard boxes and pieces of candy all around him.

There was another shotgun blast. It took Dean a second to catch his breath before he scrambled to his feet to see Sam kneeling with the other shotgun to his shoulder. Sam fired a second shot and another ghost winked out.

"Get inside the circle, Dean."

Ignoring the aches that were a sure sign of all kinds of bruises later, Dean ran through the opening between two ghosts, and crouched next to Sam. The job hadn't seemed all that difficult half an hour ago. He'd handled something similar by himself back in 2004.

It was better, working with Sam. Always would be.

Christ, it was cold in there. He let go of his shotgun with one hand, curling it into a fist as he blew on his fingers. Sam read off the incantation, starting from the beginning, his voice strong and steady.

The ghosts went up all at the same time in a blaze of white-orange light. The hum of energy died and the room grew warm again.

Sam slumped back, letting out a breath, and Dean unclenched his hand.

"So...do you think it worked?" Sam sniffed the air, as if he could smell ghosts, then glanced down at a purple Cthulhu lying next to his foot. He kicked it away.

"Feels the same as the times we've done cleansings that worked," Dean said. "Can't ever be sure until you wait a while and the spooks don't come back."

"Okay, then." Sam started to put away the candles and herbs.

Dean thought he looked almost content.

* * *

Gibbons thanked them profusely and sent them off with about fifty pounds of candy.

Sam shook his head as he opened the passenger side door and ducked into the car. "We'll ration it out. Eat it in small doses."

"Screw that, Sam," Dean said, munching on skittles. "Life is short. What, you want to be the poster child for the American Dental Assocation? Here." Dean tossed a piece of candy at him and slid behind the wheel. "Have a jolly rancher."

The piece of candy struck the window and landed somewhere on the floor. "Mr. Gibbons seemed happy," Sam said, then startled. "What is _that_?"

Dean held up the purple Cthulhu, and grinned. "Gibbons said we could keep it."

"It's a stuffed toy, Dean."

"I know, kinda cute, isn't it?" Dean wriggled the Cthulhu at Sam and let out a _raaarrrgh_ noise.

"I swear, sometimes you are _twelve_."

"It's a purple monster, man. Not like it's a Care Bear or something." Dean tossed the Cthulhu into the back seat as if he didn't care one way or the other, a little disappointed. "I'm thinking of naming it Freddy. Or Jason."

"Of course you are," Sam said drily. But Dean saw the way his mouth twitched as he popped open the glove compartment and unfolded the map. "So..." He looked up from the map to Dean. "Where to next?"

Dean started the engine. "Any direction you want, Sam."

~end


End file.
